


Love Ridden

by lazarus_girl



Series: Saudade Series [6]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“No matter what she did, she thinks the same ugly result would’ve happened.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Ridden

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre series 3. Written for [15genres1prompt](http://15genres1prompt.livejournal.com). Genre: Violence. Prompt: Lost. Inspired by the Fiona Apple Song ['Love Ridden’](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ea68xZXisDo). Thank you to [@cargoes](http://cargoes.tumblr.com/) for her beta skills and cheerleading.

Everyone scatters. The show’s over. It’s been in the air for weeks now; that fiery, bloodlust energy, growing heavier day by day. It was only a matter of time. It’s always been a matter of time, an invisible clock somewhere, counting off the minutes. She’s been carrying around the heavy dread of a day like this for so long that the weight feels like it’s part of her. 

Katie’s been dragged off by Mr Barrow to the headmaster’s office, along with Charlotte Perry and Hannah Stephens. As they turn the corner, and there’s a massive thud as Mr Barrow swings open the doors to reception and barks at all three of them to sit down, and there are words like “suspension” and “expulsion” and suddenly Katie looks much smaller than she did ten minutes ago, hurling insults in Naomi’s face while Charlotte and Hannah kicked, punched, and spat at her, egged on by the rest of the year. Even though they’re well down the corridor, she can still hear his voice, incandescent with rage, bellowing at them that he “won’t stand for this behaviour” and “this ridiculous vendetta has to end.” In order for it to end, Katie and everyone else would have to understand how much the name-calling – freak, bitch, _lezzer_ – and the rumour spreading actually hurt her, but, to understand, Katie would have to know the truth, and Emily can never let that happen. 

She’s torn between going after them and finding Naomi. Everything’s a blur after teachers burst in to break it up, and she was momentarily lost in the crush when Mr Meade and Mr Yates tried to clear the corridor, yelling at them to move and get back to their classrooms, pushing them through the doors to stop them looking, threatening them with detention if they didn’t do as they were told. When she finally made it back to the stairs, Naomi was gone, a trail of blood on the floor in her place, and she feels sickness rise in her stomach. She’s terrified that if she waits too long, she’ll find Naomi collapsed somewhere, and the whole thing will snowball into something no one’s ready for, with ambulances and police. Things she can’t even bring herself to admit out loud would have to be explained to her teachers, worse still, her parents. She’s not ready. She’ll never be ready. She’ll never be forgiven and they’ll never see her the same way. Ever. 

***

For a moment, she just stands there in the corridor, completely overwhelmed. Even though she’s never despised her sister more than she does now, she’s still her sister, and Emily’s always had to be the responsible one and calm everything down, no matter how futile – tragically futile – that seems when it comes to Katie’s hatred for Naomi. It’s never been a word Emily uses lightly, but Katie does hate, in a real and deep-seated way that can’t be repaired with platitudes and parent-teacher meetings. 

She’s got no idea where to look for Naomi and she’s got no way to contact her either. They don’t really talk now, and the texting stopped a long time ago (she still can’t bring herself to delete the number). There are hundreds of places she could be: the headmaster’s office, the canteen, she even could’ve gone home, walked out, middle finger stuck up at anyone who dared to argue with her. It wouldn’t be the first time. So, she just keeps walking, moving through the school methodically, block by block, on autopilot, listening to the steady tap-tap-tap of her shoes on the marbled linoleum flooring they all hate. She nods and smiles in all the right places, sweetly whenever a teacher catches her eye or with a barely there tilt of her head when she spots someone she vaguely knows, all while praying she’s found Naomi before someone stops and questions her. It’s probably all round the staffroom by now, they’ve been trying to deal with the situation for months, and her parents will know something too. Even if she wanted to, she can’t go back class now, she _daren’t_ because of all the whispering and the staring and the questions she’ll get being that she’s a prefect in the top set, out of lessons without a note _and_ sort of involved in this year’s biggest fight. Mr Bridges and his quadratic equations can wait. She won’t be missed. It’s one of the perks of being a quiet goody-goody. No one really notices whether she’s there or not. Next to Katie and her loudmouth mates, she’s just wallpaper.

***

She thinks she’ll always see the image of this afternoon in her mind, Naomi on the floor, curled up and foetal, her nose streaming with blood; Katie close to her ear, whispering things that made Naomi screw her eyes closed and withdraw even further. Charlotte and Hannah were the ones that took things too far. For a while, Naomi held them off, her words beating them into submission; sharp and biting, cruel in a way they don’t have the intelligence to be – she’s always been strong, never letting them see how it wears her down, but Emily knows it does, she’s heard her sobbing quietly in the girls toilets between lessons. Sometimes, she’s in the cubicle next to her, doing the exact same thing. What started as pushing and shoving turning into slapping and punching, then into punching and kicking – a sickening dull thud that will never leave her. Instead of things grinding to halt, like she prayed they would, it only seemed to make Katie kick into a whole new vicious high gear. 

After a while, she couldn’t hear their taunting and the lies.

_“Filthy lezzer bitch!”_

_“She’s always looking at Emily, perving, it’s fucking disgusting!”_

_“She’s not even like you, why can’t you leave her alone!”_

She’s heard them say those things so many times with the same horrendous, disgusted inflection, that she doesn’t even flinch anymore.

They cut Naomi deep, she knows. They cut her deeper still, because they aren’t lies. They do look at each other across classrooms. Stolen glances. Pained glances. Hers say sorry for everything, that she wishes she could change things. Naomi’s ask why she’s treating her like this, why she can’t be better, be stronger, and be braver. The answer is simple. It’s five letters long.

She couldn’t hear everyone else chanting at the top of their lungs.

_“Fight, fight, fight!”_

_“Go on, Katie, get her! She deserves it. Freak!”_

_“Give her a good kickin’ Charlie!”_

She didn’t have to be looking at any of them to see their eyes shining, hungry for the macabre performance of it all to carry on. She’s seen it all before, stood in the very same spot. 

Even her own voice was drowned out, first pleading, and then screaming at the them.

_“Katie, what the fuck are you doing?!_

_“Leave her alone!”_

_“Just stop it! Fucking stop!”_

When she had no voice to shout with, she was left clawing at her sister, then Hannah, and Charlotte in turn, caught by their elbows, jabbing backwards as she tried to pull them away and rescue Naomi before they did real, lasting damage. Katie had been chasing a fight, engineering it, planting seeds and waiting for the thing to bloom into full height. Her sister never picks fights she can’t win, but Naomi stopped fighting back long ago.

Katie’s brought this on herself, and Emily can’t even begin to fix this mess, so she goes off in search of someone she hopes she can – Naomi. All she’s ever wanted is for things to go back to the way they were. She misses being friends with her. She misses that feeling of looking into another world whenever they were together because Naomi’s travelled to different countries, knows different languages, reads books they’re not told to, and isn’t afraid of anyone knowing how clever she is or how hard she works to carry on being clever. She misses listening to her pick everyone else apart and lay them bare for the ridiculous narrow-minded sheep that they are. She misses going to her house for tea and listening to her vinyl and sneakily smoking roll-ups with her. She just plain _misses_ her, and now it’s all so complicated because she had to go and fall in love with her because she’s beautiful and brilliant and better than anyone else she’s ever known. 

All she can think is, What if it wasn’t just the drugs or the drink? What if Naomi likes her back? She’ll probably never get close enough to Naomi again to find out. No amount of wishing will make that happen. It a silly little dream, just like being more than Naomi’s friend is a silly little dream. She’s in the habit of wanting things she can never have. Unattainable. Unrequited. Unresolved. 

Bullying happens at school, teasing, name-calling, kicking chairs and nicking dinner money, it’s just part of the fabric of things. She’s small, quiet, and a good girl, so she’s also a natural target. The only thing that stops her from actually being targeted, even now, is the fact her sister happens to be ridiculously popular, and people are so afraid of her that she gets left alone. Naomi’s never had that luxury, even during the brief period at the start of secondary school when she was still considered their friend and allowed to be part of Katie’s group. Naomi was always on the outside really, tolerated rather than included, just like Emily’s always been. 

She’s caused this, she’s the reason why Naomi went from being something like Katie’s best friend to her enemy, all because of a kiss. Singular not plural. They were drunk on cheap cider and the free, lovely, beautiful, bright new world opening up before them as they sunk into their first try of MDMA at Tom Richards’ party. Katie caught them in the act, and things have never been the same. She panicked in the face of her sister’s onslaught and shut down. Before she realised, the lie, the shift of blame to Naomi tumbled out of her mouth, and Katie’s campaign took on a whole other life. The truth had been warped from the beginning, she daren’t tell her sister that _she_ was the one who kissed Naomi. That she wanted it more than she’s ever wanted anything. It was ridiculously brief, but what it stirred in her remains, persistent, refusing to dull in its intensity. Now she’s tasted it, she wants more. Naomi’s under her skin, in the space between one breath and the next. It can’t be called a crush anymore.

There’s been no breathing space for either of them since that night. The pressure’s been constant, crushing her since the texts, the whispering, and the staring started. Suddenly, she was known. She was the Fitch everyone was talking about instead of Katie. She thinks that’s why Katie tries so hard to shut things down – but really all she does is fan the flames, because Naomi digs in her heels, refusing to bend, giving as good as she gets. The sweetness of that moment, their kiss – the one she’s desperate to count as her first and wipe clean every other, sloppy mistimed one she’s been coerced into by Katie’s poor attempts at matchmaking – sours on her tongue now. All of the goodness and the wonder have gone, turned bitter and rotten by Katie and everyone else. Still, she keeps the memory safe. That, no one can touch. That will always be perfect, even if it is just starting to blur at the edges, time making it less reliable.

Though she’s thought about it often, kept awake and wracked with guilt, it’s no use pretending. No matter what she did, she thinks the same ugly result would’ve happened.

***

A blast of cold air hits her when the automatic doors of the school entrance whoosh open and she shudders, hugging herself against it. They’re in the middle of a cold snap, and it feels more like December than October. Frost is sprinkled over everything, and she steps gingerly around frozen over puddles from yesterday’s rain. It’s not light, bright, and crisp like the winter she loves, it’s heavy and bitter, struggling with itself, just like she is. She trudges along, whipped by the wind as she turns the corner by the Technology block and it gets her full in the face. It’s appropriate, she thinks, that it feels like being slapped, because it’s what she deserves given how she’s treated Naomi, but never once has she turned on her, even in the worst of it, and it’d be so easy. 

She tries not to think about what that refusal to give in and attack might mean. 

With a heavy sigh she carries on, towards the oldest part of the school, picking her way through the equipment sheds and ducking underneath the window of the caretaker’s house on the corner so she can’t be seen. There, in the distance, right in the middle of their old playing fields – well away from the posh, fenced in Astroturf one they always show when the school gets on the local news – is a figure, hunched over, the bright white of a school shirt set starkly against the grass. Her stomach drops. She doesn’t need to be any closer to know it’s Naomi. They’ve been here many times, always meeting like this. It’s where everyone comes to smoke on the sly, so they have less chance of being caught. The overgrown grass hides a multitude of sins. They haven’t been here in a long time, passing a cigarette between each other, back and forth in one steady stream of oxygen, nicotine, and conversation. Neither of them said a word whenever their fingers accidentally brushed or their gazes lingered too long.

She’s afraid to move forward, knowing the crush of the frost-bitten grass will give her away. There’s no chance of a warm smile from Naomi this time. She’ll be lucky if she gets anything more than a scowl. Steeling herself, she picks her way forward, and suddenly, their little place doesn’t seem so idyllic anymore. Whenever they snuck out of lessons to come here – usually during P.E., cross-country because Naomi deemed it a complete waste of time, and she couldn’t stand to listen to Katie bitch for mile after mile – it felt special, like a secret, and it’s the only time she ever felt remotely calm or content. Lying back in the grass, inches apart, staring up at the sky, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world. All while, when she sent up silent prayers for it to last, for them to somehow come through unscathed, clinging on to each other, she knew it was futile, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“Naomi,” she calls, gingerly moving those last few steps. Her voice raw and broken from all the shouting and she flinches at the sound. 

She keeps a respectable distance, afraid to get too close in case Naomi lashes out.

“Fucking hell,” Naomi replies, tilting her head to the sky. It’s pained and muffled, and when she turns to her, it’s immediately clear why. 

Nothing prepares her for it. In the heat of the all, unfurling before them, it didn’t really register how bad things were, but now, in front of her, she can’t escape it. She moves round, tentatively, surveying the damage. The damage she’s responsible for. Naomi’s shirt's torn, tie askew. Her hair’s wild and matted with blood, and it stains the hand she has cupped over her nose attempting to stem the flow. 

She feels sick. Leaden with guilt. How could they have done this to her?

“Oh God, look you!” a hand flies up to her mouth as she lets out a strangled cry of shock.

“I’ll live,” Naomi replies, bitterly. There’s a steel in her blue eyes that Emily’s never seen before. This isn’t how they usually talk to each other. Naomi’s guard is well and truly up. Drawing her hand away, she spits out blood, revealing a split lip.

Emily sinks to her knees, trying and failing to take all of this in, blinking back tears. “Naomi you can’t stay here like this, look at the state of you!” Unconsciously, she reaches, touching Naomi’s lip with her fingertips. 

“Don’t,” Naomi shrinks back, as if burned. As if she doesn’t trust her.

“Let me take you to the nurse,” she suggests, reaching into her blazer pocket for a tissue, dabbing gently at Naomi’s nose when more blood surges.

Naomi swats her hand away, defensive. “I don’t want the _fucking_ nurse! Just leave it!” she scrambles back, holding her head up instead of down.

“You’re not supposed to do that, the blood will go down your throat. Naomi please just let me help you!” she pleads, moving closer again. 

She stops short of saying that it’s her fault and she feels more guilt now than she ever has in this whole entire mess, because she knows it’s true. She can see it in Naomi’s eyes. She’s betrayed her. Again.

“Leave me alone!”

“You can’t expect me not to do anything!” It comes out harsher than Emily ever intends, but Naomi’s backed her into a corner, and even though they’re in an open field, she’s suffocating. She leans across, and tips Naomi’s head forward, squeezing her nose just like she read in a First Aid manual.

“Oww,” Naomi flinches, trying to push her away. “I think you’ve done enough.”

There it is. What she always knew is out there now. Naomi blames her. Naomi’s always blamed her. There’s no anger in Naomi’s voice, only sadness, calm resigned sadness, as if she’s had this conversation with herself a thousand times before.

“I’ll tell her everything. We can make it stop,” she hates the desperate strain in her voice. It’s pathetic.

“It’s too late, Emily. It’s too late.” Naomi says, rueful as she scrambles up to her feet, unsteady. The breeze kicks up again, lifting Naomi’s shirt, briefly revealing fresh angry bruises on her ribs, yet to fully bloom. She yanks her shirt down with her free hand, but it’s too late. 

Another wave of sickness hits Emily at the sight. 

“Don’t go. Don’t do this,” the power goes from her voice completely, choked with tears. “I’m not the fucking enemy!”

Naomi’s reply is clear, simple, and it cuts her to the quick, “Aren’t you?”

Silence opens up, but there’s no peace in it. All Emily can hear is the sound of her own heart, ramming in her chest as Naomi begins turn and walk away. Suddenly, Emily feels like she’s not even inside her own skin, watching it all unfold from above in horrendous slow-motion. It’s worse than she ever imagined.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” she says, all too quietly to Naomi’s treating figure, her eyes fixed square on the back of Naomi’s head, willing her to turn around. Willing her to do anything but leave things like this.

Naomi’s head bows, and her shoulders shake, heaving with sobs that Emily’s too far away to hear, but feels all the same.

She wants to tell her everything. She wants to say she loves her, scream from the highest height for all to hear, if only to make Naomi stop in her tracks and free them both from this tyranny. She’s not brave enough, not remotely, so now she looks as weak and pathetic as people have always thought her to be, and Naomi looks arrogant and unfeeling. The reverse is true. Naomi feels too much. They both feel too much and that’s the problem.

Naomi’s been drifting farther and farther from her for a long time, but she’s always felt like they could find their way back to each other, some way, somehow. That pull she’s always felt, it’s not there anymore, she registers the snap of the tether as the distance between them grows. She shuts down completely. She can’t move. She can’t breathe, she can’t do anything but watch.

Body stiff, crouched in the grass with her hands in her lap, she can feel it, somewhere deeper than her bones, that those are the last words they’ll say to each other. Bitter tears roll down her cheeks, but she doesn't feel any relief, just the impending arrival of a new weight on her shoulders. Soon, she can’t see Naomi anymore, and that’s not because of her tears. Now, all the words come. The profound perfect things that she’s conjured in her mind for all these months – years – and they all sound better than sorry.

Naomi doesn't come to school for a week, and she suffers every day of it alone, without Katie or Charlotte or Hannah to flank her in the corridors and protect her from the questions, the staring, and the whispering. When Naomi does come back, it’s different. They can’t look each other in the eye. Naomi walks around hugging herself, head bowed whenever she passes her in the corridor. There are no apologies, no kind words, only awkward side-steps and shifting to other seats when they have the misfortune to be near each other. They’re not in the same form anymore either. Naomi’s dark hair is bleached a bright platinum blonde. It speaks louder than anything she could’ve said. 

She’s not her Naomi anymore.

It’s the end of them. 

She’s lost her.


End file.
